Going Through Changes
by Femina Serpens
Summary: Second chances are difficult to find, even more difficult keep them once you've found one. When divorce hits Draco after a long time coming, and Hermione struggles to fix her own dwindling marriage, can they find a comfort within each other, or will they find something more? It's a dangerous line to tow when you never were and never will be friends.
1. Dissolution

Prologue: Draco  
~ Dissolution ~

This wasn't a surprise.

It wasn't a surprise because she never brought him coffee with two creams when she made hers with a spoon of sugar on lazy weekend mornings. Because when he left for work at 7 am, she never woke up long enough to say 'have a good day; and the _only_ question he ever asked her when he returned for supper at 5 was the same one. Because when she muttered under her breath as she read the newspaper at the kitchen table, the habit was annoying, not adorable. Because she never comforted him at night when he woke up screaming from the nightmares, instead she sighed, then got up with little concern to get him a calming draught. Because when they were in the sheets together, her eyes never caught his with burning passion , with _anything at all_ anymore. Because her nails never scratched his back, her lips never left any mark on his neck, he never held her in his arms after they fucked. There was no evidence to show that they had been together, to display any love took place within their entwined bodies.

And when pink suitcases were littered among the front door as Draco opened it one spring day, there was no sense of impending doom filling his insides as he made his way to the study. The place he had long ago learned she would be when she needed something.

The pleasantries and trite kisses they always exchanged were not given that evening as he confronted her straight in the olive armchair she favoured, the one that laid facing the bay window. Her gaze was heavy staring out at the setting sun, as his footsteps echoed onto the newly furnished oak floor. She didn't bat an eyelid nor turn her head to say it: "I can't do this anymore."

The admission _should've_ echoed in and out of his very soul, _should've _created a fracture, even just a small one in his skin and bone. But all he replied with was:  
"Can't do what?"

The tone was void of sadness. That factor didn't startle her, didn't startle him either.

"Pretend. Play this part," she clarified, toying the beautiful golden locks that curled to her waist with slim fingers.

"So you're leaving me?"

"Yes." It was final. "You know none of this was ever real. I mean, _really _real. I don't want to waste four more years of my life assuming a role I don't belong in. That we both don't want to be in."  
Slowly rising, the light hitting her soft features emphasized the fact that her resolve was strong. It was apparent in the way her jaw was tight, her fists tense. The stack of parchment balled within them crisp, ready.

"Where are you going to go?"  
It wasn't malicious, this inquiry, but there was a hidden question in that sentence. And he was much too formal to ask it forthright.

"Daphne told me I could stay with her and Adrian until I…get back on my feet. Find a new place."  
Sauntering over to his frame, she dared to finally face him, only to notice his steely eyes were _not_ full of hatred as she had expected. Her father-in-law was less than amicable, always had been, always would be. This union was, of course, put forth by the richest pureblood family he belonged to initially. A forced endeavour was their engagement; wealth exchanged for social stability.

Still, she expected his son, her husband - her _ex _husband- to react the same way Lucius would, to defend the honour she was 'bestowed' marrying into them. But instead, he was contemplating her figure. With that knot in his brow, the thin line that was his mouth, there was no fight or defense readymade in his mind.

So what she had planned, had intended to say next, was now rendered rude and unnecessary; quickly, she rewrote her speech in her head. An apology wasn't anything she would ever submit to, but he deserved _something _from this departure.  
"You were good to me, Draco. Always kind. Someone else will come along, someone who appreciates you. That person just isn't me, and _can't_ be me any longer. I hope you understand."

Looking at his feet in those dragon skinned shoes, she felt him clutch at the divorce papers she gripped in her hands, then released the for him to hold. Felt his stare calculating her up and down, wondering likely how long she had these prepared, how long she had started packing; how long it was that he failed to notice.

"I do. _Goodbye, Astoria_."  
Air escaped his lungs, a sigh, and for the first time in forever he felt as if he could finally breathe. Though the atmosphere tasted bittersweet.

One last glance at him, a swift peck on his cheek, and she quickly averted her eyes. His demeanour was similar to when they were younger, in a much happier time. His back no longer appeared strained, the constant furrow in his forehead absent. And it was only then a small pain in her gut resonated from what she was doing, as she hesitated for a mere second when she passed his looming frame.

Astoria Greengrass had long ago made her bed though, and it was time to leave it for good. Gathering her things with a flick of her dainty wand, she creaked open up the entrance to their starter home, and left.

Draco Malfoy, still contained in it, was now all alone.  
However, the black ink dripping from the old quill in his grasp was evidence that he couldn't care less, as he scrawled his name along the clean line to finalize the decision that wasn't his.


	2. Routine

Prologue: Hermione  
~ Routine ~

"_I can't _believe _I have _this _as a bloody assignment," _he was grumbling through clenched teeth, lying in bed next to her, while she had one arm round his shoulder, the other patting his soft belly in gentle strokes.

"It's not _so_ bad, Ron. Somebody has to do the research."  
She would know this, her life at the ministry seemed to be dedicated solely to it.

"Yeah I know, Hermione. I'm sick of getting stuck with the grunt work. We've _both _worked in the Auror office for what? Eight bloody years. But Harry always gets to go on the field!"  
Trying hard not to let the sighs escape her, his wife avoided pointing out that this kind of complaint was an old song and dance.

"Harry is a teacher now, though. He has to take the students out on a test interrogation, love."

"We both put in equal amounts of effort, and _he's_ the one who is in line to become the head of the department. _He's _the one who got the approval to guide the spell-casting exams."

"Remember though, that Dawlish had you undercover when all that happened. That's why he wants you to get more information about the Nott family. Right now there are only two known witnesses, no suspects. If there were, you'd surely be doing something more exciting. You're _so _good at extracting information, much better than Harry because he can't stay as level-headed."  
Her nimble fingers skimmed through the shocking red trail of hair just above his hips, catching his eyes to show hers were sparkling.

"I guess you're right…_thanks," _he replied, hugging her a bit closer. "I think I'm just most pissed at the fact that I'm gonna have to go to the damn _London_ _Centre for Wizard Literature Preservation," _he spat, mocking the title as if in air quotes. "You know who works there, right?"

Of course she did, it was a source of contention and amusement among her coworkers at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The sour attitude of Draco Malfoy when having to go and request books on magizoology (which was often) was infamous.

"Yes, I do. It's a great centre though, I've taken Rosie there on the weekends. Padma is in charge then," she clarified, missing the meaning behind the reaction of her husband, which was to widen his eyes. "_Oh, _she's studying to be a librarian. She hates working there, but that's why she's there only on weekends, the rest is spent at school."

His blank look was a staple in their relationship, so she didn't question it. "Well, I'm going to have a spectacular time asking that idiot for permission. Just because his dad donated the funds to build the place he gets to be all high and mighty...Family tree records are _private, _but I'm sure you knew that. I can't wait till Saturday to do this, so confronting him is inevitable."

"Don't worry about it so much."

"I just don't want petty insults thrown at me because there'd be nobody else there to witness it. Remember that Minister's Ball at Christmas? Called my robes 'hideous' behind my back. And he was so smug with that Astoria on his arm, she could do loads better looking like that."

He didn't see the flicker of a frown spread across her perfectly pink lips, or sense her body tense.  
"Yes, she's quite pretty….did you want _me _to come with you? I'd be happy to plead your case should he be difficult, and I know all the laws regarding personal confidentiality, he'll have to give them to you."

"That would be amazing, Hermione!"  
With the peck on the forehead he granted her, she was relaxed again. It was funny how he still had that affect.

"I'll meet you at lunch. We're going to come out with what you need _and_ have an anecdote to tell Harry about, you'll see," she grinned, leaning over him to kiss his mouth, gliding her hand ever so slightly lower down his body.

A second later, her shoulder was being pushed away. He was shaking his head.  
"Not tonight, darling. I'm really not in the mood."

And with one sentence, hers was killed in tandem.  
With nary a response to his refusal, she fell back against the soft pillows.

"By the way, I'm going to be out with Dean, Harry, and Seamus on Saturday, and that's when Mum and Dad have their anniversary. Are you okay to look after Rosie?"

"I thought we were going to go to a museum, all three of us? You promised her you'd go weeks ago, she was quite upset you weren't there last time."

"_Hermione," _he whined, "It's the first Saturday off I've had in two months. I just want to relax with the lads. You know I'll take her out Sunday."  
Nothing was said again for a weighty pause.

"It's fine. I'll take her myself….we should get to sleep, it's nearly 11."

She made a mental note to order a flower delivery for her in-laws.  
She made a mental note to invite Harry over for dinner with little James.  
She made a mental note to take Gladys and Gwen from Goblin Liaison out for lunch.  
She made a mental note to visit Luna at the Quibbler office more often.  
She made a mental note _not _to beg Ginny to come back early from her training in Armenia.

Just as slumber was about to take her away to better places a soft cry was heard from down the hall. It was immediate to her what it was, and before her husband finished rolling around to face her, it was also immediate what he was going to say.  
"_Can you go take care of Rosie, please?" _he mumbled, eyelids half-closed.

"Alright."  
And she slipped out of bed, grabbed her housecoat, then quickly made her way to the nursery, the enchanting stars and planets illuminating the room in a glow as the door creaked.

"Momma, I had a bad dream again! About the warlock taking my heart out!"  
This had been happening often. It was a giant regret giving her _The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _Much like her mother, she was far beyond her years in intelligence, and at four could read very well.

_The Warlock's Hairy Heart _was an inappropriate story for her to read, though it has a good lesson; make sure you love, and stay away from dark magic. In the tale, the nasty warlock stole a fair maiden's heart to replace his own which had turned evil and bestial over the years of him denying it. Yet Rose had asked for a wizard book, different from the Grimm brothers and Hans Christian Anderson, wanting to see 'what Daddy used to read'.

"Oh, sweetheart. You know that warlock is _long _dead now. Besides, you heart is much too great for _him _to ever take," she told her, sitting down on her mattress, getting under the blanket so she could cuddle her shaking daughter. Then she began stroking the unruly red curls as she had done to Ron earlier, holding her close when tiny arms reached out to do the same.

"Are you excited for ballet tomorrow?"

"Yes, momma! Miss Rain said I was getting good at splits!"  
It didn't seem to take much to perk up such an exuberant child's spirits, a change of subject worked on an unburdened mind. She kept on talking about dance until she was out of breath, until exhaustion overtook.

Hearing about someone so excited about life was strange, because the feeling had become foreign. The enthusiasm seemed to be an atmosphere that her skin soaked up, that managed to make her both happy and melancholy. Melancholy that she wasn't that way herself anymore.

So even when little Rosie fell asleep again, Hermione didn't leave the room.


	3. Exchange

~ Exchange ~

"Draco, what exactly _happened? _Do you know it took us _– "_

"'_Three years to find a family who would be willing to take me.' _Yes."  
Lucius Malfoy tilted his head ever so slightly, narrowing his eyes; his son hadn't snapped at him, but repeated the common phrase so calmly.

"Oh, I bet that whore cheated on you, didn't she? Bet you she just wanted the fortunes, it was obvious from the start! Good thing she signed that prenuptial agreement we made."  
Pouring more firewhiskey into his highball glass, he sipped half of it in one gulp.  
"Were you even _intimate? _I was hoping for a grandchild by now!"  
All he got in response was an eye roll.

"Darling, don't be so hard on him, his wife has just left him! Oh, I'm so sorry!"  
Narcissa swung her body for perhaps the tenth time around her baby boy, rubbing him on the back, shielding him from reproachful eyes.

"This is going to be _hell _to deal with once it becomes public knowledge, maybe there's some way we can pay the _Prophet _not to write a story…."

"For Merlin's _sake_, Lucius."  
Steering Draco away from the lounge, she looped her hands into his as they escaped to the outside to walk around the grounds. She noticed that his arms seemed stronger than the last time she'd seen him, but his face appeared permanently strained.

She sensed that talking was undesirable to him, but such sudden, shocking news demanded an explanation.

"So, darling, what prompted this…_sudden departure._" Narcissa's middle name may as well have been tact. "Do you have any ideas? You got home and she just _left? _You two seemed so content when you came for dinner."

Sighing deeply, there was a shake of blond hair, and the clearing of his throat.  
"I swear to god, you and father are the most oblivious people on the planet," he exhaled, ripping himself from her grip. The proclamation was said in exasperation, not characteristically petulant like she was used to. What was _wrong _with him?

"Draco – "

"_No. _Listen. Father actively sought out a wife for me because he thought I would never be able to get one myself. Or else, I'd never find one who is 'good enough'. Essentially paid a dowry to a reputable family so we wouldn't be associated with Death Eaters anymore. Maybe 'social status exchange time' was what used to happen in the pureblood world, but how can you expect a marriage to last like that? You two are lucky you found each other at school but I doubt you'd still be in a union now if it was arranged. I only said yes to everything to get you both off my back. Because I needed to get out of here."

"_Darling…."  
_He may as well have plunged a knife in her chest at this admission.

"Astoria was nice, she was beautiful, but we had _nothing _in common. She didn't like me at all, _couldn't stand me_, couldn't forgive my past. I tried to make her happy, tried to make myself happy by living the life everyone is _supposed _to aim for…You think it's _fun_ going over to your in-laws manor only to have snippety jabs at you and your family all night? Have your wife never want to go out with you because of your reputation? She only went to functions that we were 'obligated' to attend to. We only had sex because we got bored, and sex was the only positive thing; then we stopped about four months ago. _And there was nothing good left_."  
Facing away from his mother as he said this, he turned around again to look at her and stopped walking.

As Narcissa stood still, she was contemplating the decorative stones that surrounded the grand fountain, as her hands played with one another, avoiding his gaze.  
"I really had no idea you felt that way. And so powerfully."

"I know that your intentions have always been good. You can't, however, fix and cover up what happened. What Father was a part of, and what I did. I know it was a hell of a long time ago, but some wounds don't heal, mother. No amount of galleons or good press is going to change what anyone thinks of me. Both Astoria and I deserve to be with someone who want to be with us, all strings attached."

Staring up into the grey, the long eyelashes, so much like his father, she was struck with how weathered he sounded, so mature. Perhaps torn.  
Then her hand was gripping his lightly, and after a long pause, his curled around hers in return.  
"All I want you is for you to be happy, sweetheart. You know you'll always have me, no judgement. Your father…" she trailed off, receiving a laugh from her garden companion.

"Wouldn't be my father if he wasn't freaking out, and angry."

Her beautiful smile was lit up in the afternoon sunlight.  
"And he'll get over it."

The forgiveness and understanding afforded Draco relief for the rest of the night. Even through the passive aggressive comments throughout dinner with Lucius, through the still strange sensation of sleeping in a bed without a peaceful woman beside him back at home, and even with her absent from the kitchen table in the Monday morning.  
It was when he sipped his coffee alone to the upstairs room to grab his wand that it hit him how he had nowhere to go at lunch. Astoria had agreed to go out what felt like eons ago today, it would've been the first time in half a year they'd done something normal. Now he would likely spend the entire day without speaking to a single soul, because If Draco was honest with himself, he had no friends, nobody but his parents. Even if the conversation was trite with his ex-wife, it was still nice to have somebody there. When another talk would happen, and who it would be between, he didn't know.

"_I'm going to put up a damn for sale sign at this rate."_  
Slamming the front door to his home, a small tear hit the porch as he adjusted his tie before apparating.

{}

"So Mum's going to take Rose to that ballet class, and you're gonna pick her up?"  
A trail of barbeque sauce was running down Ron's chin. The chicken sandwich he was scarfing from the deli they just left had been devoured in approximately two minutes flat. Hermione was only sipping on a green tea; her Werewolf Support Proposal deadline was looming, due tomorrow morning. She'd designed an elaborate pitch for weeks to create an outlet for werewolves to meet at. Group therapy, almost. So they wouldn't have to hide their curse like Lupin had done, so they wouldn't be outcasted and shunned into becoming dangerous the way Fenrir Greyback was. Needless to say, the stress was palpable.

"Yes. I'm going to be at the office a bit later than usual. Otherwise I'd take her myself. Your mum really is amazing, remind me to thank her again."

"Trust me, she's just happy to have somebody to take care of. And it's fine anyways, probably going to get home at 7 again, I'm sorry," Ron apologized, tossing the wrapper into a trash bin as they passed it.

"It's fine. I won't be home til 5:30, have to go to the market. I was thinking lasagna tonight for supper? Is that alright?"

"Sounds _delicious," _he praised, swinging in to grab her round the shoulders while they walked down the street. "Harry coming over? He was out before I got in today, haven't spoken to him and still haven't really figured out that damn telephone."

Almost eight years they'd been married and Ron had yet to embrace Muggle culture quite the way he'd promised in their vows.  
"Yes, I called him this morning. I think Rosie will be happy to have James over, she just loves him," Hermione smiled. "Always goes along with her games."

"Yeah, I think he has Big Brother fever. Harry says he's been counting the days for Ginny to come back, wrote out a letter and everything as to why they should have another baby." Ron chuckled. "Since she's retiring this year, they'll have time. Harry is definitely gonna be relieved that he doesn't have to send James to afterschool care all the time with all the late nights. Maybe if _we_ weren't so busy…."  
And he shook his head with a silly grin whilst Hermione sipped quietly from the cup, pretending not to know exactly what was on his mind. She hadn't quite had the willpower to inform him what _wasn't_ on hers.

"Oh god, there it is. Might as well get this over with. Ready?"  
There it stood; a beautifully crafted sore thumb in the middle of an urban centre:

The London Centre for Wizard Literature Preservation.

Only a short walk from Whitehall, where the Ministry was, the building had opened 2 years prior. Praised for its intent, to keep records intact and books intact about Wizarding families, it was a secret laughingstock to many for its grandiose.  
Many varying old architecture styles littered the Greater London Area….for important _Muggle_ structures. This place was stuck in between nondescript office buildings that were modern, built for function, and _not_ decorum. But Lucius Malfoy commissioned and propositioned the whole project, seeking the approval from the Minister himself. Whatever the motives behind his initiative, a multi-million galleon budget for such a great idea was difficult to turn down. So it was approved; It was well-known that the Malfoy tastes were expensive, lavish at best, ostentatious at worst.

A white marble affair, it towered above the skyline it shared with its neighbours, gothic arches with elaborate engravings and a rose window centred below the title of the place that seemed to be sparkling in the absent sunlight. To the non-magic folk, there was a sign outside telling the passerby's that it was yet to be finished. But for the Weasleys, it only took one to place their wand on a pedestal to gain entry.

And they did that very action after their feet echoed up the steps, glancing at one another in anticipation before pushing the high wooden doors inside. Immediately, Hermione felt her hand being grabbed into her husbands, but she was too awestruck as she always was coming here by the interior. Styled like a library, the ceiling was curved in cream stone, with gilded pillars holding up the whole building. Two spiraled staircases were set left and right to create a hallway leading into the main floor. The reference desk, at the end of the room, was elevated on a slight platform, with the office and restricted stock lying behind it. A Private Files section was gated off to one side of the public access section, much like the restricted section in Hogwarts. The books themselves were nestled into shelves that were carved into the walls, leaving stone tables with cushioned chairs and many sofas circling the empty middle spaces to read.

It could have been a thriving site for learning, it _should _be. But the one mistake that was made was giving Lucius complete charge of it. His son was given a full-time job, and still the commissioner was much ready to hire somebody else if it got much too busy. The problem arose when, upon two months into the opening, the centre was a proverbial ghost town. Maybe three visitors a day if they were lucky. Of course, everyone knew exactly the reason as to why, but Mr. Malfoy was _much_ too proud to admit what it was.

When Padma Patil plucked up the courage to request an internship, weekends only, and word got out, the Saturday's and Sundays had families and scholars alike filling up the empty spots. In fact, Hermione recalled having to wait for a place to sit once when she brought Rose in for yet another reread of _Beedle the Bard._

She also recalled Lucius Malfoy's recent interview as she was being led to the back: "Wizards are much too busy during the week to bring their children in to my centre. It's really no wonder only Ministry folk are the frequenters until the rest of us have free time," he had quipped to the _Prophet. _

_Too busy, indeed, _Hermione was thinking as she caught sight of the ever familiar blond hair and strong jaw line that occupied the desk they'd reached. Draco, Director of the Centre, was staring at them, most noticeably with dark circles and heavy lids. No signature smirk on his lips, but most definitely the contempt he seemed to reserve only for them.

She noticed his gaze trail from their faces down to their entwined fingers, and visibly grimaced. As much as she despised her visceral reactions, self-consciousness was not one she _ever_ expected to feel under the scrutiny of _him. _Adjusting her gait, she attempted her stance to become more defiant.  
"Can I help you?" he drawled, drumming one hand on the papers he had laid in front of him, the other now cupping his chin as if he was in extreme boredom from their presence.

Taking out the silver badge with a shiny "A" on it, the red head nearly slammed it on the counter before speaking: "Listen, Malfoy, I need the Nott family records, and I need them now. It's Ministry business, confidential, so I don't want to have to report you for not complying, but if it comes to that I can't say I'll feel too bad about it."

"_Ron."  
_Hermione nudged him harder than she meant to, the facade failing as she blushed red now standing beside her husband as an ally, watching Draco's brows rise ever-so-slightly at Ron's every passing word.

Sighing, Draco tugged open a drawer with lazy force, and fished out a brass key with a ribbon tied round the end. Then, he plunked it unceremoniously in front of his guests.  
"I'm not daft, Weasley, I know you're an Auror. You don't have to act all high and mighty, you wouldn't come in here unless you were forced. The records are in the Private Files. Bookshelf to the left."

It appeared Ron was at a loss of what to say, as his hand slowly curled around the handle of the key, and foolishly snatched his badge back into his jacket. Then he darted a look at Hermione, who nodded toward the gate.  
"Er…yeah, thanks."

As they both went towards their destination, they heard a clearing of a throat.  
"Only one person can go in at a time. Centre rules."

Ron inched forward slightly with a spark in his eye, but Hermione shook her head, rolling her eyes.  
_"Just go," _she whispered through her teeth, the palpable tension not needing to be elevated with an argument. And when he complied, she contemplated that it was like dealing with a schoolchild before trying to wipe her mind clean of the negative thought.

Staying by the counter, she opted not to examine the boy she had avoided for so long, but despite her best efforts, Ron was decidedly taking more than ten seconds. So after another few minutes of uncomfortable silence, she found herself unwillingly sideways stalking him, finding that when he was in clear view his eyes were wide, his pupils so dilated the grey was almost gone.  
It was _fear, _maybe surprise.

And since she knew it was impossible for _her _to have that effect on him, she whipped her head to where he was looking.  
Pretty blonde hair, legs days long, with a gorgeous red dress were floating towards her, towards _them._

Backing away from the counter as if the woman walking with purpose was an oncoming storm instead of a human being, she gave the visitor some space.

"What do you want?" he asked once the delicate woman reached him. And his voice was harsh, but in the tone was something indescribable.

Astoria didn't react to the statement. Hermione stood slightly frozen, watching with equal parts gross fascination and embarrassment, out of the corner of her vision of course.

A tiny manila package was produced from her dragon skin purse, and she slid it onto his paperwork.  
"I just forgot to give this to you, um, the other day," she spoke, flickering her gaze to Hermione, then back to his, "And I thought you'd appreciate having it back."

Draco toyed with the mystery parcel, flipping it in his hands, and then placed it with care on his lap.  
"_Thank you_," he whispered.

"Uh, Hermione…? Shall we?"  
Suddenly the whole exchange, almost as if she was viewing a film, was popped into a very odd reality as Auror Weasley appeared back from his mission with a giant leather bound book.

"Bye Draco." Then Astoria was sauntering away, without so much as an acknowledgment that anyone else was here to see anything.  
And they all watched her go. But while Ron was gawking at a shapely backside, Draco was contemplating Hermione's face as she witnessed her husband staring at another girl.

"I need you to sign it out before you leave. It's a binding contract."  
Snapping out of it, Ron's ears turned a bright red before accepting a quill and writing his signature on the line. Then he shoved the key with the ink onto the ledge when he was finished.  
"And I'll need that back by the end of the week."

"Yeah, yeah,I know how it works. Thanks for helping the Ministry of Magic's Law Department," he rang off in a monotone inflection. "Let's go, love."

And as Ron led Hermione out of the surreal situation, she stared behind the desk one last time to see that Malfoy was untying his parcel. But the curiosity went unsatisfied because suddenly he was thrusting his head into his palms; his ring finger was incredibly bare.

Then she didn't need to guess what was inside.


	4. The Truth

~ The Truth ~

"There is literally _nothing _useful in this bloody thing!"  
Ron slammed the door to his Brixton home shut, a long day of reading behind him. It was 8:30. After shaking off his worn leather loafers, he placed the book on the kitchen counter. He needed to leave it alone; leafing through it a fiftieth time may have driven him _fully _mad.

"Hello to you too," Harry chuckled, sipping on the beer his hostess had given him as he sat at their table. "Just let it go for tonight, mate."

"Hi, darling," his wife greeted Ron with small wave, coming back from the master bedroom in her sweatpants and makeup removed, as he plunked down beside his friend. "Want a pint?"

"That would be lovely," he sighed, "Sorry I'm so damn late, I didn't mean to miss dinner. Really wanted to try and find something, I got caught up in it. But…._Nothing."_

"It's okay, I kept your plate under heat," she grinned at him. Turning around, the grin faded when she pulled the oven mitt from the drawer. It slowly fell into a frown as she poured a bottle from her fridge into a glass, and placed it with the lasagna she'd prepped for an hour in front of her husband, who was too engrossed in his conversation for a kiss.

"So far we've got no leads either, pretty annoying if I'm honest," Harry was saying. "But just because you couldn't find anything in the records doesn't mean much. The whole Nott family is shady, this illegal potion operation could very well be working through Muggles for all we know. It would be the last thing we'd expect from purebloods. Anyways, just enjoy the easy downtime while it lasts and – _James, _be careful, she's a little girl not a doll!"

James, who was in the living room, had picked up Rose by the waist and was continuing to spin her round and round in circles, her tiny feet dangling so her dress could twirl.  
"We're just having _fun, _dad. You should try it sometime."

"Fun!" Rosie yelled, giggling like crazy as she was put down, still hugging her captor.

"Even so, be gentle," Harry smiled at his seven year old. "And you should work on your comebacks a tad."

"Harsh dad. I try my best, I really do," James replied, wrapping his arms around Rose and pecking her gently on top of her unruly red curls, leaving his head there afterwards.

Hermione watched the loving display in contentment, then flickered her gaze instinctively to Ron's. She felt bile rise in her throat at his expression, which was dream-like. The exact same one he wore when she had walked down the aisle. She beamed of course when he looked behind him at her, as if she agreed with his sentiment, because she had to make the guise that she agreed with what was on his mind.

"It's nearly nine, kiddo. Way past your bedtime, _and _Rosie's. Please help her clean up before we go."

"_Aww, no fair! _It's so _boring _at home," he whined. But he got the 'stern stare' Harry had been working on, and grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the pile of toys that littered the ground.

"Sorry mate, wish I could stay but I can't be slacking tomorrow," Harry apologized, and Ron simply nodded. They talked about Quidditch for a few minutes as Hermione joined them in silence for a little peace of mind before she had to put her daughter to sleep.

"Daaaad, can't we just stay here tonight? Like you said, it's _already _nearly 9," James cried, walking over and yanking on his sleeve. "I can help Rosie brush her teeth and everything, tuck her in!"

"Everyone's tired, love," his father laughed. "You're going to see Teddy tomorrow, and you have school. You're gonna be exhausted if we don't get you to bed," Harry rang off, like he'd made this list a long time ago.

"_Yeah, yeah."_

"_Ahem, _what d'ya say to Hermione now?" Harry prompted.  
James rolled his eyes, but ran around them all and held his arms out for embrace.

"_Thanks Hermione_," he sang. "For dinner and all the other stuff I'm supposed to thank you for."

"You're welcome," she said, shooting Harry a sly grin. Then she had an idea. "Hey James…did you want to come with Rosie and I to the Muggle Science Museum Saturday? It'll be a lot of fun."

And those green peepers that matched Harry's so well grew as wide as the Sun, and just as bright.  
"Yeah! Dad, can I? Can I please? I don't want to have to stay at Aunt Muriel's _again,_" he grimaced.

"Please Uncle Harry! We see the 3D printers! You can make a copy of ANYTHING," Rose was squealing, bounding in with apparent limitless energy over to his lap.

"Of course he can. How nice of your to offer, Hermione."  
He plucked his niece off the floor and gave her a quick cuddle before creaking out of his chair.  
"Now let's get going."

"Dad, can't I put Rosie to bed first? Read her a story? It'll only take a moment. Come on! I'm not even tried!  
Sighing, Harry glanced over to Hermione, who was placing the plates in the dishwasher. She nodded.

"That would be lovely James, thank you," she said, causing the boy to shout a 'yay', and lead Rose by the hand into her room, she had already put on her pyjamas.

"I can't even _imagine _what he's going to be like when he's older," Ron chuckled, draining the remnants of his stout.

"Probably like Fred and George." Hermione smirked. "Witty, with a mind of his own…..and a total _pain in the arse_ to his parents."

"One can only hope for that," Harry added, and they all shared a laugh.

"Have you seen George lately, by the way Harry? How is he? Haven't seen him in weeks," Hermione then inquired, rejoining the pair as she sat down. "How was the trip to Scotland?"

"Well, he dropped by the house to give James a toy from Edinburgh last Friday, but Alicia was at St. Mungo's for some flu-type thing she'd contracted, so he had to leave pretty quick," Harry explained. "They had a great time though, he said. We're going to see him Saturday…_erm_, Hermione maybe you could come meet us after?"

"Maybe…the kids might be too tired."

"Nonsense, we can leave the pub and go to someone's house or – "

"Harry," she cut off. "Really, don't worry about it. It's fine."  
And she motioned that it was with her hands, as if that was the best affirmation she could give.

"Speaking of people we haven't seen in a while, our resident ferret was even more joyless than I'd have imagined him to be."  
Ron raised his eyebrows, passing a look to his best friend, who covered his mouth with a hand at the disproving look Hermione was giving them. Little did Harry know the exasperation was less directed to Ron's comment than his sailing past her comment about the weekend.

"What did Malfoy say to you? Was he smug when you asked for those private files? And did you wipe it off with your badge and request paper?" Harry pressed, looking reminiscent of when he was 14 and eager for gossip, a goofy grin on him.

"I showed him the badge, told him to co-operate, but he didn't fight about it at all. It was strange, I didn't even need to give him papers. 'I'm not daft Weasley, I know you're an Auror,' he said," Ron mimicked, throwing on his Oxford accent and putting a palm to his chest haughtily. "I don't know, he looked pretty damn pissed off at something, and though I'd love to say that it was due to us, I don't think we can get all that glorious credit."

Now was the part where Hermione told them what she noticed, could inform Ron what he missed while he was searching through shelves of literature.

"And his wife, you know _Astoria_?" Ron emphasized with raised eyebrows, while Harry merely nodded. "She was there, and he didn't even look happy to see her. What a _dick_. If I were married to her, I'd be ecstatic every time she walked in the room. Hermione, you were there, what happened?"

Now was the part where she mentioned the package, the bare ring finger.

"She just gave him some papers. That's all."

Now was the time, and lo and behold, nothing useful she said.

The image of Draco, defeated, _sad _even, played and played in her mind when she had watched Rosie at the barre before the end of class. When she was picking out fruit in the supermarket, and when she was layering sauce onto her lasagne. It flashed over again repeatedly, and it was odd.  
Not odd because she thought he'd make a fantastic husband, even a _good _one. She never knew Astoria, but she knew the Malfoy's very well. Perhaps that toxic psyche wasn't a place any self-respecting woman ever wanted to be put in. Perhaps not all the pureblood Slytherins cared about were power, positions, and money. But that wedding was a big deal in the elite world when it happened, and she couldn't help but wonder what caused the split. Maybe it _wasn't_ all him.

"... and I'm going to have to go back there again at the end of the week. May as well give the thing another look through in a couple of days when the info has time to sink in before returning it. That's going to be fun."

And curiosity was one of her most dangerous vices.  
"Hey, love – I can bring it back. I have to go there anyways for further werewolf research if this proposal goes through, and I won't be able to go Saturday."

"Really? That's so sweet, Hermione."  
She was rewarded with teeth, genuine and happy. And it was returned as best as she could give it.

"Are you sure you don't mind going _alone?" _Harry asked, concern etched into his expression. "I know you can handle yourself but he's, well, _Malfoy._"

"We're not teenagers anymore, Harry, it's just a book. I'm not afraid of him, never have been, never will be."

"It's not you being scared, Hermione, it's him being a giant flobberworm to you as he's always been and having Ron and I hex him into the next galaxy due to some comment he thinks is witty."  
The protective stare she was so used to served to warm her fingertips, not freeze. But she was a big girl, she had always handled him better than Harry or Ron.

"_Trust me, _I'll be fine."  
Those pretty pink lips stretched into a little smile, and that was the end of it.

Harry went to check on the children a minute or two later, trailing a begrudging James behind him to the front door. They all relayed their goodbyes, exchanged kisses and words; it was bedtime. Completely beat from strenuous skimming, Ron insisted that he needed to lie down.  
When Rosie called for someone, Hermione was left alone to the task of fighting her demons away like she had every night. It was almost 10:30 pm when Hermione finally relaxed on the mattress next to him, thinking he was asleep.  
Lying on her side from a strenuous day, her hair was suddenly being skimmed to the side. A hand caressed her chest, caressed her whole body. Then she felt the heat before there was a bite on her neck. Something in her core fired up, and she felt herself growing wet between her legs.

"_Ron?"_ she breathed, feeling his fingers trail up and down the nightgown covering her thighs.

"_I want you," _he murmured, licking the shell of her ear. A moan crawled up her throat, and she spun around to snog him, slipping her tongue inside his mouth when he curled his hand round her arse.

"_Fuck me, fuck me now," _she begged.  
She couldn't remember the last time he'd acted this way, and she couldn't wait for any longer lest it should go away as waywardly as it came.

He ripped off his boxers and whipped off the silk covering her in record time, before pinning her down on the sheets. Stroking him with vigour, he spread her apart, urging his body towards hers as he groaned from tension.  
"_Wait, _Ron. Protection spells." She reached frantically to the nightstand, for the vine, but he gently pulled her arm back.

"_No, no….._Look, darling. I was thinking….seeing James with Rosie…I've always wanted a little boy, and well… You know we talked about having two kids, maybe three. Let's make _love,_ let's have another baby," he whispered, kissing her on the cheek repeatedly.

"_Ron."  
_She was frozen.  
She was horrified.  
_Was this normal? To feel this way about having it off with your _husband_?_

His hips were so close to hers, and though the ache was _so strong, _she pushed him back.  
"Ron, I don't want to try just yet. It's hard enough spending enough time with Rosie _now_. With how long we both work every day, if I get pregnant, I'll have to take more time off, it's _impossible _ for you to."

"Hermione," he paused, voice in his throat., "Are you cross about my long hours?'

"No, sweetheart. It simply gets harder to be a great parent sometimes when you're not around, that's all."  
A confession, glazing over the problems wasn't a solution anymore.

"I _am _sorry about the museum trips," his voice eventually filled the void. "I'll make it up to her, to _you_. Soon, I'll have more seniority, you know Harry and I are working on the program really hard. And then I'll have plenty of time for us.'

"I appreciate that, Ron. I still don't want another baby now. Can't we just have a fun night?"  
He was facing her instead of running from the argument. So she rubbed him again.  
Then her hand was being held. And released.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Is it the cost? Darling, you don't even _have _to work. I make enough for us, for our family. You can stay at home with our kids, and study anything you want all day long."  
Next to her, he was laying, toying with the wild tendrils with one hand, the other propping his chin up, as if he were telling her about his lifelong dreams. Completely serious.

"I'm _not_ quitting my job."  
The venom was sharp as she spoke.

"Hermione, _no, _I didn't mean – it was only a – "

"Good_night, _Ron_."  
_Turning on her side, she shut her eyes tightly, and resisted the urge to trail her fingers down below. The itch was always there, and it wasn't clear on when it would be scratched.

{}

Friday

_**Pureblood Princess Breaks it Off with Ex-Death Eater**_

_It appears Astoria Malfoy, nee Greengrass, will soon be able to take back her namesake. Word has travelled to my grapevine from a reliable source that the pureblood blonde bombshell has left her husband Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family fortune. _

_Malfoy, who works at the London Centre for Wizard Literature Preservation commissioned by father Lucius, married Greengrass, socialite, just four years ago. Greengrass was seen last Sunday without her pricey diamond (pictured left) walking to a bistro, the family ring many of our readers coveted as we followed the engagement when it was taking place. Spotted wearing sunglasses and a rather large black sunhat (pictured below) – maybe to hide her signature blonde hair? – she was dining with fellow pureblood millionaire Blaise Zabini, sharing pleasantries and smooches. _

_It seems that while Malfoy's wallet satisfied, perhaps his _package_ did not. Whether or not Greengrass is a flighty gold digger, or Malfoy was just too poor a husband (and evidence suggest it's the latter), we'll keep you updated on the latest events. We leave you wondering if the Malfoy elders know or if they're in for a shock this morning as they skim their lavish eyes across this page._

_- Rita Skeeter_

Black ink stained his thumbs as the paper crumpled beneath his fingers. A thirst for revenge grew from the pit of his stomach up to his throat and out of every conceivable orifice.

The whole vile thing was thrown to the floor, leafing through it a fiftieth time may have driven him _fully _mad. His only solace was that it was Friday, 11 am. There was nary an echo of a soul where he sat, a voice or a sound.  
Scrawling heavily on a fresh parchment page, his shoulder tensed and the hairs on his neck stood up as the pull of the entranceway doors were sounded.

Expectant, he might've seemed, that it was going to be a lithe woman with golden curls and a sensual gait coming to see him. Perhaps apologize. Perhaps explain away what he had already expected when the only use for their bed had been sleeping for the past few months.  
While it was a woman, as he gathered nerve to take a peek up from his letter, he was faced instead with unruly brunette locks and copper eyes that flickered in the bright light from the windows. A leather-bound book in her grasp.

"I see Weasley had to send his special forces in," he was saying before he realized it had left his lips. "Facing me like a man himself twice in one week must be much too taxing."

She floated next to him, it seemed, in this piercing silence he'd created on his own. Dainty grace placed the family tree down onto the counter, as she ignored the jibe and surveyed him instead, _pity _perhaps etched into her gaze.  
"Just wanted to return it on time."

It was a shrill admission, _too _uncharacteristic.  
And irrationality was one of his worst vices.  
He was shoving out his chair, he disappeared from her view, but she waited. And when he reappeared from a door that led to his office and stood towering above her small frame, she merely tilted her head so it was levelled with his.

"_Was it you_?"  
And one step he took forward, his shoe a mere foot away for hers.

"I'm sorry?"

"Was it you, _Granger, _that has tipped off the damn _Prophet _that Astoria left me? Have you read the _Prophet _today? Maybe you laughed about it with Weasley and Potter, and word got round the Ministry when they found out about my misfortune. Are _you_ the reason they're following her? Because you were the only person here when she gave the ring back, I know you could tell there was something off. I _know_ you could tell."  
The clouds in his corneas were sharp; the anger was palpable.

"I didn't say anything."  
A stern nod she gave, a lapse in her movement, and there was a visible flash across his face.

"Do _not_. _Lie_. To _me_."

"Have you considered that perhaps _Astoria _said something to someone. Maybe her family?"

"Of course I have! But you're looking at me like you actually feel _sorry _for me_,_ so maybe you feel guilty, maybe you regret it."  
It was too late to realize he was in her personal space. It was much too late to tell him off, to hex him or curse. She'd allowed the entry, the entry where she could physically feel him present, and with words she'd have to make him understand.

"Draco," she said making him flinch at the profanity, making him stare straight at her soul, "I never told Ron, or _anyone _about what I saw."

The funny thing was that he may have actually believed her.  
"Are you…_okay_?"  
The funny thing was that he was nearly compelled to tell her why he wasn't.

"No. As it happens, I'm _not. _You've already done what you came for. What do you care? You only want to know so you can feel self-satisfied."  
Reading her like a manual, so he thought, when she became ever so closer to his frame, his breath was caught.

"What happened?"  
He took a step back.

"_Excuse me?"_

"Why did she leave you? You seemed quite upset about it. Did she cheat on you?"  
Draco was floored is an understatement. Somebody he'd grown to hate was suggesting that perhaps it _wasn't_ his fault for their dissolution.

"It's none of your business, Granger. I don't trust you, why would I give you intimate details of my life?"  
It was cold, but it wasn't harsh.

"Because it appears you have nobody to talk to about it."  
By the way he blinked, the way his face grimaced for only a split-second; she knew she was correct.

"And _why _would someone like _you_ care to take interest in someone like me? You know nothing about me."  
This time it was cold _and _harsh.

"And you really don't know _anything _about me, Draco. Next time somebody attempts to show you kindness, maybe you could try responding accordingly. Now if you'll excuse me, you were wrong in thinking I already got what I came for. It wasn't just to return that."

It hit him only then, as she threw herself around and began to amble towards the section about magical creatures, that he never had had any effect on her at all. That Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch, never regretted anything.  
Balling his fists, his legs carried him down the marble steps to where she stood, examining _A Modern History of Lycanthropy. _Already under her arm was _The Werewolf Struggle, The Legislation of Wolfsbane, _and _Werewolfry in the Courtroom. _Breathing heavily, what he had intended to say slipped away from his mind as his memory was jogged, and was replaced with something different.  
"You're going to borrow those _again_?"

Spinning around, it was Hermione's turn to be surprised. The confused swerve of her head, and dart to the title of what lay in her hands confirmed it.

"Yes I said 'again'. I look through all the records of who has borrowed what, Granger, to make sure it's all still here. You think Padma has time?"

Reason dawned on her face, but what she uttered sounded defensive.  
"Can't somebody take out a book a second time?"

"Certainly. But why all_ four_?"

"W_hy _would someone like _you_ care to take interest in someone like me?" she spat.  
And again, maybe he was wrong. Maybe she did regret some things.

"You work in the _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_. You work in the Beasts Division, let's say Werewolf Registration. And you're the type of delusional humanitarian that would try and _better _other peoples lives by providing those who took the courage to register by making a legislature proposal. Am I on the right track?"  
The amber burned in her eyes as they widened, as she stilled at the assessment. He wasn't yet finished:  
"And I'm going to guess that it wasn't approved. I'm going to guess that you won't give up til you get what you want, and that 'just a little more research!'" he mimicked in a plucky higher pitch, "is going to make you believe you have a stronger argument and better chance of success."

"And I'm going to guess you think I have _no _chance for success?"

"Not at all. Proposals fail all the time. Keep pushing it and they'll break down. The Ministry's very slow-moving."  
Fidgeting now, she fumbled with all the books. The way he was surveying her, arms folded, composed, was very unnerving.

"_Why_ did you follow me over here?"

"Because I'd like to know why you actually give a fuck about why my wife left me. You hate me."

"Curiosity got the best of me, _sue me_," she bit through clenched teeth.  
And she swished past him, clacking her heels heavily on the floor as she stomped back up to the reference desk.

"_I think it's more than that_," he was calling as he too made his way back.

"What are you talking about?"

"I think that you, _Hermione," _she flinched at the usage of her name, as he came just as proximate as he was before, "want a reason to feel like _your _marriage is fine. Because I don't think you're happy. I think the charm and novelty of being school sweethearts with Weasley has worn off as you have grown up and matured even more exponentially than you already were and he's only done so when in regards to getting what he wants."

"_Excuse me_?"

Every passing moment her gaze was getting darker and darker. If looks could kill Draco would've covered in blood, wounds all over his body.

"I bet a thousand galleons that he spends all his time at the office. I bet a thousand more that you're left to the task of taking care of your daughter, and that he justifies it to himself because his mother delights in taking care of her when neither of you can't."

But even though he was dead to her, he didn't stop talking.

"I bet that you come home every day, and even though you have everything you need to be happy, you aren't. You never go anywhere unless your friends invite you, and the rare time you invite them , you feel inadequate. Your lunkhead of a husband probably treats you exactly like dear old mum, because he never learned how to take care of himself and relies on you to do everything as he's 'so busy'."

"_Stop it."_

"I bet you, Miss Granger, sorry_, Mrs. Weasley_, that you're miserable working in a job where they don't appreciate the intelligence everyone knows you possess. But you stay there in the hopes of making actual change instead of copping out to get recognition. And that your husband doesn't give one ounce of _shit."_

"_I swear to –"_

"And I'll bet that when you go to bed at night, he's too tired to _fuck you _the way you deserve."

"_STOP."  
_She leaned in to shove him backwards, as hard as she could, but her upper arms were being gripped, and she felt her back hit the counter behind her.

"I know this because all the signs are there. Because you're out here investigating some stupid thing like this because it reminds you of being in Hogwarts when you had small clues to lead to something bigger. The signs that were there for me, and I just didn't register them. _I _am miserable working in this place. The only job that'll have me because my bloody _father _runs it. I know this because Astoria would _also _check out males backsides when I was standing right next to her, the rare time _we_ ever left the house. I know this because the only conversation I ever had with Astoria revolved around what we would have for dinner, and how her day was. It was always 'good'. I know this because we didn't have sex for four months before she was gone. And it stopped being fun years ago."

"_Let go of me."  
_He released her, and she began panting; he didn't step back, but she didn't move either.

"Point is, that both of us were having a terrible time being married. But unlike Astoria, I didn't really have a choice to leave. She settled for me, and she wanted out. Maybe I didn't deserve to be cheated on, but I can't say I blame her. She left because we were playing a part we both felt obligated to play, and she had the nerve to end it. _I _know exactly how you feel."  
His beating heart was out in the open, his soul laid bare. Honesty she'd never imagined she'd hear bleed from his lips, but then maybe he was only trying to get under her skin because she saw what he didn't want her to see.

"Are you quite finished? I – I need to go back to work."

"Did you get what you wanted?" he asked her, sliding the books off the counter and into her hands.  
A frown was permanently etched on her face as she placed them into her bag.

"What, you mean your psychological evaluation?"

"No, I mean, I told you what happened. And you have all your references for that proposal."

"Yeah, _thanks," _she snapped, and her fingers grazed the skin right above his button-up shirt as she meant to move him from her warpath.  
His voice caught in his throat at the contact, an audible sound; she paused in her tracks when she felt him tense.

"_Sorry," _ she murmured, wriggling away from him, ready to run out into the street air.

But suddenly, she was drawn back again, heat filled her senses as she was touching his collar once more, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders in place. The last thing she saw before his mouth collided with hers were two blazing eyes that shone from the light.  
It was only one kiss, and then suddenly he was halfway into the doorway, away from her as the stars and daze cleared from her mind.

Hyperventilating at what had transpired, she turned to look at him, and his expression matched hers. Like he had no idea what had just happened.  
And then:

"If you ever want another psychological evaluation, Granger. Come back. I'll be here."  
It wasn't sarcastic, rude, or mocking.

The steps that brought her back to the London sidewalk were heavy and slow. All the concentration that it took her to apparate back to the Ministry of Magic drained her lasting will. As she got to her desk, and sat down in her chair with the door locked, she burst into tears.  
And the deepest darkest reason that she would never reveal, that made her loathe herself more than she already did, was she was not crying because she'd cheated. It was too early and raw for that.  
It was because Draco was right.


End file.
